Dreams
by elementalinfinity
Summary: Noodle has some problems coping... so she turns to Murdoc for help.... OneSHot, Please Rate and Review! Another co-written story by Alina and Yren


He sat in his home-on-wheels; Of course, he hated the way that sounded, and always refered to it as the 'Winnebago." If one strained hard enough, they could see 'Mr. Niccals' in the back of his Winnebago, laying lazily in his bed... if you could call it that; Through all the beyond-musty appearances his abode with-held, Murdoc practically blended right in, with his surroundings. In his hand, he held a tape recorder. Since writing was a chore, he usually archived his "days of _youthful _greatness" by audio. "Murdoc Niccals... August first... two-thousand-nine..." A brief pause, interrupted by a vulgar snort and continuance, " Thing 'ave been a bit...sluggish 'round Kong Studios, lately... I dunno what it is, exactly, that we're still doin' 'round eachother... Far as I was aware, our contractors were done with us... 'Good for sales', 'ey say... an' I think it's bullshit... Still... I 'hink we've all changed, over the years... 'specially 'at Noodle... She's gotten older... f'the better, I say... 2-D 'as been a little smart'er.... if you could call 'im that... An' Russel... Well, 'e lost 'is "friend's soul," which, if you ask me, I say 'e just finally got off 'em herbs..." Murdoc's log went on like this, for awhile. For the American Layman, his liverpool accent was a moderate puzzle. But, for those that have been around him for so many years, they've either finally understood his dialect well enough, or they simply ignore him. One of the two...

A few couple of steps up a staircase and a few doors down the hall, past a torn-up door with a crayon drawn sign, in almost the exact same position as the Satanist downstairs was a Jap, who at the moment was busy picking at her bangs. Long fingers played with the purple strands that hung above her eyes, splitting them into groups so she could actually see, eventhough she had told the guys for years that she could right through them. Noodle's room had grown to house more than just her 18 year old self. It had become a bit of a haven, a place for all extensions of her life to rest in. In the back corner lay a pile of clothes taller than her stature, but contrary to most beliefs, they were actually brand new, and still unworn. Her walls were like a museum, housing everything from guitars to photos of her bandmates and friends. But the most important part of that haven was underneath her bed, and as much as she would've liked for there to be a secret passageway there, there was a passing of her secrets on almost a daily basis; her journal lay there. She bent herself over her bed and reached for the small book, opening it up to a clean page.

August 1st, 2009

"The boys and I have been on a hiatus for quite some time.... I can't even remember when our last concert was... now that we are no longer performing... I feel kinda... empty...." She let her pen hit the page as she reached for her favorite fender a few feet away, then began strumming a few cords, just to remember what it was like.

"What's 'at noi--!?" A brief pause. He clicked his recording off short, and started listening carefully. Was he imagining things? While he hated to admit it, often times he'd start hallucinating if he spent too much time in the Winnebago. It sounded like Noodle was playing. She hasn't done that in awhile. Maybe he was imagining it... still, it put him in the mood. He got up lazily and walked to his closet. Bracing himself, he opened the door just a crack... *WHAM!* As usual... He had to fight the shark back into the closet. Once it was back in, he grabbed his Bass-Baby and slammed the door. "Honestly, why in Satan's Crib do I keep putting things in that closet... 'ell, why do I still have the shark... Oh... right... covers up all the other smells..." He remembered what all the other smells in his Winnebago were like... he preferred zombified sea-predator over any of those, any day... In one swift motion, he swung himself into his bed, again, catching with him the audio-plug, which was hooked to his amp, with his foot. Plugging it in, expertly, with his foot, he then turned the amp on, with the same foot, and strummed his guitar.

Her heart just stopped. Did she really hear what she thought she did? While still playing, Noodle brought herself closer to the door, just to make sure insanity hadn't got the best of her. Her ears weren't lying. The Great One had started to play again. In a hurry, Noodle opened the door with her elbow and ran down the corridor as fast as she could, never missing a note in the process. She even played in the lift on the way down, tears swelling up in her jade eyes. The lift door opened and a violet haired guitarist dashed across the empty car lot, her socked feet barely making a sound against the cold concrete floor. As she reached the Winnebago, she began to slow her pace, the came to a complete stop at the door. She was right. And by this point her tears were not only adorning her eyes, but her cheeks and guitar as well. Her fingers trembled against the strings, and she could barely see what she was doing, but she didn't want to stop. She never wanted to in the first place.

The noise.. rather, the _sound_, got louder, and more clear. Noodle's guitar was getting closer... or Murdoc had officially spent _too much time _in the Winnebago. Undoing the tie on his amp-cord with his toe, he got up and walked to the door, still playing. He opened it with his foot, not wanting to stop playing, and found Noodle, as he deduced. Something was... amiss, though. Either there was a leak in the ceiling of the garage, again, or she was crying. He looked at her with a rather... blank expression... maybe it was surprise?

Noodle swallowed hard and looked up at her band leader. A shudder ran through her chest as her fingers left their home on the guitar strings to hold the instrument by the neck alongside her thin legs. Her chest heaved slightly when she looked up at the bassist. After what seemed an eternity and a half of silence, she finally spoke. "Murdoc-San……" Her traditional heavy Japanese accent did not show itself in her speech when she was upset. "Why did we stop?"

He plucked on final note, and let it hang in the air. When it stopped, he spoke, "It was a wild ride... but our song 'ad to end somewhere..."  
...wait... what the fuck was this!? Since when was MURDOC NICCALS, Satanist and Mastermind of the Gorillaz, ever _philo...philoso... _whatever the hell that word was. That wasn't him. The Winnebago could never do that to him... could it? Or maybe it was something about remembering the past... He didn't know...

And before either one of them knew it, Noodle was on her knees, bitter tears streaming down her face as she nearly screamed. "WHY, MURDOC-SAN?!?". Her following words were incomprehensible, a mixture between the anger she felt on the inside, the pity for herself, and two completely different languages. The skin on her knuckles turned white as she clenched them even tighter, against the concrete floor of the carpark. Usually, she had been one for quiet emotions and soft words, but now, it didn't matter at all.

This _definetly _wasn't like her. At all. But... somehow, Murdoc expected this. Not because he was a Mastermind, but because... well, it's always the quiet ones that snap first. The Horror Film Industry made sure we knew this, quite well. He put down his bass, and stepped slowly down from his Winnebago. "...Noodle... I'm really not one for these, erm... sentimental moments... but, erm... The way I see it, 'is 'ere Studio is like a Hostel. Sure, we live 'ere, an' yeah, we 'ad some good times... but we're still looking for something... i'ss'all... temporary, if y'will. Murdoc Niccals sure as 'ell isn't settlin' down, just yet... I can't be in one place foreva'. I 'on't think _any _of us, can."

Noodle took a deep breath followed by a step closer to her bassist. "Then what do you, ah, suggest we do, Murdoc-San?". She spoke in a tone much lower than her usual cheery and high pitched one. She took one of the slightly green tinted, rough hands and placed it over her own heart. "You feel that Murdoc-San? That is no ordinary heart beat. It's a heart that was brought up by Gorillaz and that will die with the Gorillaz." Noodle took her much smaller hand and held it over his, making sure her point was made. "Murdoc-San…"

Murdoc took a step forward, and hugged his guitarist. "Noodle..." He sighed,"I know you loved this place... and I... thought it wasn't bad, either... I ain't sayin' I'm gonna eva' _forget_ 'is place..." _With all the crazy shit that's gone on, here, who could? _He joked with himself, "...What 'eva it is 'at you end up doin' wit' y'life... Keep us all in y'heart... 'at's 'ow the Gorillaz are gonna live on... In what we do..."  
Now this was serious. This seriously couldn't be Murdoc speaking... Was this a nightmare? Did he get finally get eaten by the Zombie-Shark, and he was officially in a twisted version of Hell, forever damned to prophetics? No... no... what in the right-mind'a Satan was happening...?

Noodle let out a deep sigh. "Murdoc-san…. Thank You…" And with that, she brought her face up to his, green skin against olive. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, her mouth just about to touch his….

And that's when the red numbers spoke. They didn't speak nicely though, for their words sounded like a buzz. The Great Murdoc brought a large hand down upon the alarm clock and slammed it into silence. He ran his hand through his Beatles-inspired hair, and squinted at the clock. "For the lov' of sweet Satan…." And that's when it hit him. The dream.

Murdoc sat up. "I need mor' beer…"

~Hai thar! This is Alina and Yren… and we're officially waiting for you guys to declare us deadz. Here's our second fic! R&R Pleeeeease! Please feel free to leave us ideas on what you'd like to see! Tons of love and video games for all!~


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